'Yes?' He is surprised.

'Oh, Sharif!' The tears come flooding. 'People can do things without telling you. You think they won't but they can. It is not only the British who dislike you. The Khedive does not like you, you have turned down government posts, resigned from the Council, you were a friend of Sheikh Muhammad Abdu -' Anna's voice is choked with her tears. 'The Turks know that you want Egypt independent from them, and now you are also involved in Shukri's campaign against the settlements in Palestine. The Islamists hate you for your position on education. We know there are more radical nationalists who think your way is too cautious, too slow. And there must be people who do not believe you can be married to me and yet have nothing to do with the British, who suspect you of playing a double game -'

'My, my!' Sharif Basha smiles. 'What a popular chap I am -'

'Oh, darling, the people who know you adore you, would do anything for you, but you must not discount the others -'

'Anna, listen. Listen, hush -' He kisses her face, he wipes her tears, he holds her close and strokes her hair, her neck, her back. 'Listen, I know it has been difficult for you -'

'No, it has not.'

'Yes, some of it has. I know. And I wish it could have been different. But we have made it worthwhile, have we not? I will not let anything come near us. Tonight I shall find out if there is anything to this letter. And meanwhile, courage, Lady Anna. Go wash your face and don't frighten Nur and my mother. I thought you were never afraid?'

'I am now. For you.'

'There is no need, believe me.'

Yaqub Artin Basha translates into Arabic: ' "To the Branch of the Fair Tree, the Light Rain of the Generous Cloud, the Son and Daughter of the Prophet -" ' He raises his eyes, looks over his spectacles. 'Is this a joke?' he asks.

'Read, read, mon ami,' Sharif Basha says, lying back in his chair, his legs stretched out, his feet crossed at the ankles, his eyes closed.

' "To the Drawn Sword of the Straight Way, Seyyid Ahmed el-Sherif - " '

'Sayyid Ahmad al-Sharif? Who's he?' Shukri Bey al-Asali asks. Yaqub Basha shrugs and continues: ' "May he be always under the protection of the divine eye - fullest greeting and most perfect benediction. May all the odour of these greetings be upon you and may the blessing of G.o.d cover you - " '

'The odour?' Sharif Basha opens his eyes: 'Was that the odour of - what? Blessings?'

' "Greetings",' Shukri Bey says.

'I think he means "perfumed greetings",' Yaqub Basha says, frowning at the paper in his hand.

'Well, in that case ...' Sharif Basha closes his eyes again.

' "What I wish you to understand by this letter is that the bearer and that which he bore have reached us and that your wish is established in our understanding; but we have been able to understand from your messenger verbally only so much as you have declared in your letter. How can one arrive at the planet Souad? To arrive there -" What is this planet Souad?'

' "Suad has appeared and my heart today is full of joy",' Sharif Basha quotes.

'Your mood is very clear today, ya Basha,' Shukri Bey smiles.

'I have been working in the garden all day. Planting trees for Nur.'

Yaqub Basha rustles his papers and continues: ' "To arrive there the summits of mountains must be pa.s.sed, and beyond, there is death. For the thing which you have conceived is very difficult, and its difficulties are insurmountable even for one who might have greater means than you, and that is a thing impossible. The matter presents obstacles which can be explained neither by direct statement nor by implication. He who would wish to reach it will find many things which are opposed to the Sacred Law, even supposing him to reach it safe and sound. On the contrary, he must stoop and crouch, and even thus he will not attain his end. G.o.d is generous and merciful. Inquiry has been made.

' "Is his demand that he should arrive in the night at the stated time, or would he arrive at another moment? G.o.d makes him happy who states things openly and clearly. Some say that the time indicated in the Sacred Law is less disadvantageous, so that the princ.i.p.al may enter into the accessory. Is it possible - " '

Shukri Bey starts to laugh. Sharif Basha grins at him and Shukri Bey throws back his head and roars with mirth. Yaqub Basha frowns at him over his gla.s.ses.

'Forgive him,' Sharif Basha says. 'He is but a foolish Arab and afflicted with lightness of the brains. He comprehends not the words of the sagacious -'

'This is not a laughing matter,' Yaqub Basha says.

'I really - what rot!' Shukri Bey says, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. 'And that last bit about the princ.i.p.al - did you get that right?'

'Let us have the rest of it,' Sharif Basha says.

Yaqub Basha adjusts his spectacles. ' "Is it possible for lovers at night to go twice, first giving precedence to their chiefs and then causing others to follow them? Lightness of clothing and food indicates sagacity of mind. He has cast aside the sheet of paper to lighten his steps until he has flung away even his shoes. It is a true saying: (verse) "Why do the camels march so slowly? Are they bearing stone or iron?" '

'Ah, the camels - I have been waiting for those!' Sharif Basha sits up. 'There had to be camels.'

'Rubbish. Rubbish!' Shukri Bey says.

'There is more,' Yaqub Basha says. 'All in the same vein.' He scans the rest of the letter. 'And wait - "If our journey takes place, the divine power having permitted it, the fast will be preferable in the month of Rajeb, the return being in that month -" In Rajab. Something is to happen in Rajab?'

'What do you think?' Sharif Basha asks seriously. 'Of the letter?'

'It is a nonsense,' Yaqub Basha says.

'It could not have been written by an Arab,' Shukri Bey says. 'It makes no sense.'

'This is the work of an Englishman,' Yaqub Artin says. 'An ignorant Englishman who imagines he knows how Arabs think.'

'The Oriental Secretary,' Sharif Basha says, 'Mr Boyle.'

'But why? Why would he write this?'

'Because Cromer has asked for reinforcements of the Army of Occupation and he needs to persuade the Foreign Office of their necessity. So Boyle writes this letter and they send it to London pretending they have got it from one of their spies.'

'I do not think Cromer would do that,' Yaqub Basha says.

'This letter was sent to the Foreign Office,' Sharif Basha says. 'It is supposed to prove that a revolution is being planned.'

'But it can prove nothing. It is a piece of stupidity.'

'But the Foreign Office will not know that. They will read "camels" and "G.o.d is generous" and "odours of blessings" and they will say "fanatical Arabs" and send the troops.'

'How did you get this?' Shukri Bey asks.

'I cannot tell you that.'

'But what can we do with it?'

There is a silence. Then Yaqub Basha says, 'We can do nothing. Even if we were to write a - a critique of this, showing how it is not Arabic - I would not have believed Cromer would do such a thing.'

'He probably believes the spirit of it is true,' Sharif Basha says.

'But he knows the letter is not genuine,' Shukri Bey says. 'Unless - do you think Mr Boyle might have not told him?'

'Impossible,' Yaqub Basha says. 'Boyle is Cromer's creature. He would not dream of tricking him.'

'I think,' Sharif Basha says, 'the only thing we can do is to try to get someone in London to print this - if it is possible to do so without revealing how they came by it. Then we can be ready with a reply.'

'It would be a very esoteric discussion,' Yaqub Basha says, 'points of language, imagery. We would have to imagine what Mr Boyle wished the Arabic to say and then translate it correctly into English. The problem is too subtle. In a court perhaps you could present it, but to the general public, no.'

'What else then?' Shukri Bey asks.

'We can take it to the Agency and stuff it down Cromer's throat,' Sharif Basha says. 'Bring the revolution forward by a couple of months.'

'But there is no revolution, is there?' Yaqub Artin says.

'I do not know of one,' Sharif Basha says. 'But with the Army on alert and parading through the country ...' He pauses.

'Of course, anything can happen,' Shukri Bey says.

'I have spoken to some young men in my office,' Sharif Basha says, 'asked them to find out for me. But I do not believe anyone is planning anything. We would have smelled it.'

14 June 1906 My husband tells me that his enquiries confirm his belief that no uprising is being planned by any section of the Nationalist Movement. Mustafa Kamel Basha is shortly to leave for Europe, once again hoping to arouse public opinion in support of Egyptian Independence. My husband says there is no reason to expect anything but a quiet summer. Pray G.o.d he is right.

Last night when he came upstairs he found me in Nur's room. The child sleeps with her back curved in an athletic arch. He regarded her for a moment in the soft lamplight, and - smiling at me - said, 'Look! She is flying.'

Am Abu el-Maati comes to see me every few days. He has detailed a young woman from the village to look after me and I asked if she could bring a friend as I was working all day and she would be lonely. So Khadra and Rayyesa come for a few hours each day. They are both newly married and have no children yet. They dust and wash and water the garden. When the meals they prepare sit for days in the fridge, they stop cooking and bring me little dishes of whatever they are eating at home. And Am Abu el-Maati comes to see if I have everything I need, to sip tea with me on the veranda and bring me news of our village and the neighbouring lands. I tell him I am writing a history of my ancestors and he says he remembers my grandmother, for he was a young boy when she died. He brings the Quran from his house and shows me his name and the names of his father and six of his grandfathers, inscribed one after the other on the flyleaf.

'Soon,' he says, 'the next time my oldest boy comes back from the sea, I will write his name down, then give it to him.'

'May He lengthen your life, insha Allah,' I say.

'Lives are in the hand of G.o.d,' he says. 'I've lived and I've buried those who were younger than me.'

'G.o.d give you good health, ya Am Abu el-Maati,' I say.

'We do what we can and the rest is with G.o.d.' He coughs and takes out his packet of Cleopatra. We are such good friends now that he offers me a cigarette and I accept. If someone else comes along, I will crush it under my chair and wave away the smoke. We speak of the land and how it should be run. The five faddans, the smallholdings set up first by Kitchener and then by Abd el-Na.s.ser, are no good, he says. 'At first they seem good and a man thinks he has independence but then he finds himself marching in place. He can't modernise, bring in big machines. And in the end what can he leave to his children? Divide five faddans between them? In the end, still a man eats up his neighbour's land and one ends up rich and the other at G.o.d's door.'

'What then?' I ask. 'Cooperatives?'

'Maybe.' He looks doubtful. 'But people quarrel and each one wants to be boss -'

'So what's best?'

'Fifty faddans. At least fifty faddans to one owner is a reasonable size. A good owner who lives on the land and lets people share in its returns.'

'So you are a reactionary, ya Am Abu el-Maati?' I smile.

'Never, ya Sett Hanim,' he defends himself, 'but the land is with us in trust. We have to do what's best for it.'

'I hear,' I say slowly, 'I hear there are Israeli firms offering services - agricultural services. I hear they get special concessions from the government.'

'I've heard that too,' he says. 'But up in lands by the Ca.n.a.l, not here.'

'Has no one brought them in here?'

'No, not in the whole governorate.'

'Would you work with them? If they were hired to improve the land?'

'Never. And anyone who brings them in - you'll excuse me - is a fool. Either a fool or an agent. Isn't that how they took Palestine? By pretending to show people how to plant their land? And then they're clever and they take it over. No. We've been working our land for thousands of years. We don't need strangers to show us how to do it.' He looks at me. 'You're not thinking -'

'Never,' I say. 'It's just talk I hear in Cairo and I wanted your opinion.'

'And if we do need strangers,' he says after a moment, 'the world is full of nations with technology. Why does it have to be the Israelis when we know they have us in their sights?'

'Because they underbid everybody else.'

'Then we should ask ourselves why.'

'You're right,' I say. 'I wish they could hear you in Cairo.'

'Each one goes with his own head,' he says, standing up. 'I shall leave you to work. Don't you want anything?'

'I want your safety,' I say.

13 June 1906 I was sitting at the piano with Ahmad at my side and Nur on my knee. Nur had discovered the great sound she could make by banging her little hand down on the keys and I was trying to restrict her to the high notes while her cousin sat at the centre and picked out a melody. I was just thinking that the child is ready for better training than I can give him when Hasna came in all agitated and begged to be allowed to bring in Mahmoud Abu-Domah, a kinsman of hers who - having just arrived in Cairo from their village - had come to visit and bring her news of her family. I gave my permission and a pleasant, open-faced young man came in, Mahrous holding him tightly by the hand. He was clearly embarra.s.sed to be shown into my presence, although the sight of the children did somewhat put him at ease. Hasna was plucking at his sleeve and saying 'Tell my lady, tell her', and it transpires that as he was waiting for his train at Tantah there had come news of trouble in a village nearby between some British officers and the fellaheen. What he had understood was that the officers, shooting at the fellaheen's pigeons, had killed a woman and set fire to the storerooms where the wheat is kept, and the fellaheen had attacked the officers with sticks.

Hasna was much distressed and was all for going there immediately, but both Mahmoud and I persuaded her that such an act would be foolish, especially as - thank G.o.d - it was not her village that was in trouble. We have asked the young man to stay with us tonight, for it will please Mahrous and besides I wish my husband to hear his story. What a wicked and senseless business this shooting of pigeons is, and how much harm it does the British in the eyes of the fellaheen!

Shukri Bey is due to leave us tomorrow and we are all sad to see him go, for he is of such a pleasant and nny disposition that he has been a wonderful guest in our household. He insists that we should go to visit his family in the Holy Land and indeed I should very much like to visit Nazareth and Jerusalem and Bethlehem, which I have sung of so often but never seen. My husband also would like to go, for he has fond childhood memories there. And if Layla and Husni and Ahmad could come too - since Jalila Hanim, Husni's mother, is from Nazareth - we should make a very pleasant party indeed.

Layla is much affected by Shukri Bey's accounts of the settlers. She has started to collect articles about their activities and has asked me to furnish her with anything that I can from English sources.

14 June 1906 The newspapers today carried an account of the events at Denshwai and they are worse than we thought: one of the officers was killed and the case has been taken out of the hands of the District Attorney and will be dealt with by Findlay Basha in the Special Court. A cordon has been placed around the village and two hundred and fifty people have been arrested. Mr Match.e.l.l has already put out a statement praising the officers and blaming the fellaheen for the events - and this before any investigation has taken place. Of the fellaheen five are wounded and one is dead.

18 June 1906 This is what has happened in Denshwai. A miliary force on promenade through the Delta were encamped near Tantah. Some officers wished to go shooting pigeons in the village as they had done the year before. They sent a message to the Umdah but did not wait for his permission as they are supposed by law to do. They commandeered two local carriages and went, accompanied by a local police guard. The choice of Denshwai was due to its having large numbers of pigeons, which const.i.tute an essential part of the people's livelihood. When the officers arrived at the village, an elder, one Sheikh Mahfouz, came out to meet them and asked that they do their shooting far from the villagers' homes, as the law says that no shooting may be done within 200 metres of a house. The officers paid no attention and deployed themselves in different positions, but all within 150 metres of the village. At two o'clock in the afternoon they started to shoot, the people the while watching them from their homes and fields in resentment.

Presently a fire started in one of the rooms in which the just-harvested wheat was stored. n.o.body can be certain what started the fire. The fellaheen say it was the shots of one of the officers. Mr Match.e.l.l says the fellaheen burned their own wheat as a prearranged signal to attack the officers. But how could such a thing be prearranged when no one knew the officers were coming? The Umdah had been out of the village and indeed only arrived during the incident.

When the fire started, the owner of the house (who happened to be the village muezzin) and his wife ran out and started to beat the two officers closest to their house and to try to disarm them. Captain Porter's gun went off and the woman, Ummu Muhammad, fell. Her husband and the villagers - thinking she was dead - attacked the officers with sticks and tried to wrench away their guns. The other officers, hearing the noise, came to help their companions and all fired shots low into the people. Five people fell, among them the head of the local police, so the police joined the people in beating the officers. Two of the officers ran to fetch help from their encampment, which was some six kilometres away. The others were disarmed and held by the fellaheen, who, when they found that Ummu Muhammad was wounded, not dead, grew calmer, so that some of their elders intervened and protected the officers and returned them safely with their guns to the encampment.

Meanwhile, of the two officers who had run for help, one, Captain Bull, unable to withstand the heat of the June sun, fell by the roadside by the market village of Sirsina. The other jumped into the Baguriyyah ca.n.a.l and swam to the encampment. A man from Sirsina by the name of Sayyid Ahmad Sa'd came upon Captain Bull fainted on the road and, with the help of some villagers and Muhammad Hussein, the market police man, carried him into the shade of the small market hall and gave him water. When the English force came into sight, the villagers scattered and hid. Sayyid Ahmad Sa'd hid in the millhouse nearby, where he was found by the British soldiers. Believing he was the cause of Captain Bull's condition, they beat him to death with the b.u.t.ts of their bayonets.

Captain Bull died later in the day and the villagers were to be tried for murder. But he was exhumed and it was found that he had died of sunstroke.

The investigation has ended today and the whole of Egypt waits to see what will happen.

I fear that this will be represented as the beginning of that insurrection promised in that false and wicked letter and will have widespread repercussions.

My husband has volunteered to defend the case but has been turned down by Match.e.l.l.

Hasna is going around weeping and little Mahrous is very silent, for although they are from Kamshish they have friends and kin in all the sunounding villages and the whole area is engulfed by the troubles.

20 June 1906 Cromer left yesterday for England on his annual leave. But al-Mu'ayyad publishes a report that the gallows were tested out the day before in the prison store. The Councillor, Charles de Mansfield Findlay, will be acting for him. I pray and pray that justice will prevail in the Court.